


The Things We Do Just To Keep Ourselves Alive

by CookiesAndKatanas



Series: Repo!Hats [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008), The Yogscast
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookiesAndKatanas/pseuds/CookiesAndKatanas
Summary: Ross forgets something at Smith’s, and goes back to his apartment to get it. What could Smith possibly do with his afternoons that he would interrupt?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Repo!verse typical violence/exploitation, drug use/addiction, dubcon for inebriated kissing/come ons

It’s nearly 4pm, two hours after he’d left Smith’s after breakfast, when Ross realizes he forgot his tablet. He’d left it plugged in next to the bed after logging his reports for the night’s work.

He wants to catch up on a new episode of a show, so he dresses quickly and makes his way back over to the nice part of town Smith lived in.

He bangs his fist on Smith’s front door, and a muffled curse and stumbling footsteps respond. Ross waits, but the door doesn’t open like he expects.

He knocks again, calling, “Smith, mate, open up, I forgot my tablet and a new episode of Duke of Revenge came out last night.”

“I’m busy,” comes the muffled reply.

"I’ll be in and out, let me just pick it up.”

The door opens, and Smith turns and walks back into the living room without a greeting. He has the air of someone who’s just been rudely awoken.

Ross heads to the bedroom and collects his tablet and charger. As he stops by the living room to say bye, something about Smith’s posture gives him pause. He can’t put his finger on it, but he sets his things down on the table and steps closer anyway.

“Smith, mate?”

Smith exhales loudly, shoves his phone in his pocket and flings himself back on the couch dramatically, his hands coming down to cover his face. “Christ Ross, I have shit to do, you said you’d be just a second.”

Even through his hands, the way Smith is speaking is… off.

“Are you okay?” Ross asks.

Smith stands, glaring at him. “You’ve got your shit, leave!” His eyes are dark and challenging.

Ross’ brow creases and he takes a step towards Smith, his hands stretched out placatingly. “What-”

“Leave, Ross,” Smith grits out, taking a too-large step to get in Ross’ face.

Ross realizes what he assumed to be a trick of light wasn’t, and Smith’s eyes really are as blown as they seem. The confusion on his face melts to realization all too quickly, and he grabs Smith’s arm, hissing, “What the fuck did you do?”

All the fight seems to go out of Smith at once, and his posture melts into a wobbly slouch, his hands coming up to hold Ross’ arms. “Haha, guess I’m not a good actor. It’s okay, I promise, I’m fine.” A small smile dances on his lips.

Ross guides him back towards the couch and sits him down on it, and is starting to feel frantic. “Smith, we have work in a few hours, tell me this isn’t LSD or something.”

“No, it’s not, I’ll be fine for work, it’s just to relax…” Smith trails off, his eyes wandering over Ross’ face. He seems completely oblivious to Ross’ tension, completely at ease with a soft smile on his lips. Ross waits for him to say more, but Smith seems to be content just to look at him. 

Ross is suddenly vividly aware that they are still holding each other, and with the intense way they’re studying each other’s expressions, they are undoubtedly having A Moment. He mentally stumbles, but Smith blinks slowly, too slowly, and concern overrides everything else in his mind. “Mate…” he trails off, unsure what he was going to even say.

Smith pulls him forward slowly, and as Ross is about to pull away and avoid the whole sexual-shit-while-high thing, Smith whispers against his lips, “ _Ross…_ ”

and Ross can’t help but melt into the kiss after that.

He starts to pull away after a few moments, but Smith follows him with a needy whimper and tightens his hold on him, and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing.

Ross takes the lead easily, and settles into Smith’s lap.

After only a few minutes of roaming hands, Smith starts to move his hands to Ross’ belt. Ross pulls away, knocking away Smith’s clumsy hands easily. “We are not going there.” His mind kicks back in and he realizes that he is an  _asshole_  because Smith is high and he let this happen anyway.

Smith’s eyes are unfocused and his head lolls as he slurs, “If it helps, I’ve thought about it for a while.” His voice is deep and gravelly, either with whatever he took or arousal, and Ross’ guilt ratchets up a notch.

“Let’s just go to bed, Smith.” Ross gets up, and helps Smith stand.

Smith is swaying and smirking like he’s won. He pushes Ross’ hands away, mumbles “I can walk, ‘m fine.” He stumbles for a moment before catching himself and heading towards the bedroom. His hand trails along the wall, and Ross stays close behind him in case he stumbles again.

When they’re both in the room, Smith turns to Ross and leans in, expecting another kiss. Ross doesn’t oblige, but Smith’s smug smirk returns when Ross maneuvers him onto the bed. Ross settles next to him, sitting up against the headboard, and when he just takes out his phone and starts up a game, Smith whines, “Ross, c’mon.” He laboriously flips himself over to his front and tries to bury his face in Ross’ neck, but Ross shrugs him off. Smith’s head settles on Ross’ shoulder instead, and he throws a leg across Ross’ lap and a hand on his other shoulder.

Smith turns his head to kiss at Ross’ shoulder, and Ross moves that arm so his hand is in Smith’s hair, ready to pull him away if he tries to go at his neck again. He ignores Smith as he murmurs “please,” against his shirt, and strokes his hair as his pleading fades to incomprehensible mumbling, until he drifts to sleep.

Ross stays, not wanting to leave his friend while he sleeps off whatever he took, but mostly because Smith is half on top of him and waking him would be more trouble than it’s worth.

It’s nearing 7pm and the time they should start getting ready for work when Smith starts to stir. Ross closes out his game and puts his phone down, ready to ask Smith some questions and hoping to hell and back that he’s sober now.

Smith suddenly freezes, and Ross can feel his whole body tense against his own. Smith sits up to look at him, and at Ross’ wry smile, whispers, “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally getting this up on ao3 after its sat on tumblr for over a year.
> 
> you can find more on repo hats at my[ tumblr ](http://cookiesandkatanas.tumblr.com/tagged/repo%21hats/chrono)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross and Smith talk about Smith’s drug use. Everything stays 100% under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Repo, threats of violence, panic attack

 

Smith wakes up, and before he even opens his eyes, he notices he is sleeping on someone.

He freezes. The events of earlier come back in one big rush, and he has only to pull away and look at Ross to confirm that yes, that all did really happen.

“Shit.”

Smith is still sitting up, giving Ross his lap back, when Ross’ smile trembles and he barks out a quick laugh.

Smith flashes back to how easily Ross bent to his suggestions, and wonders if maybe he uses too, so it’s normal for him.

Ross stifles himself before Smith can think much further, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just-” His expression sobers in an instant, and he looks away from Smith. “Fuck, I have no idea what to say.”

There’s an awkward pause, because Smith doesn’t know what to say either, he never wanted anyone to find out. Once Ross figured it out last night, it was too easy to relax and let things flow, because there was nothing he could do about it. And he is regretting those actions now that he’s sober. Oh god, he even told Ross he’d been thinking about having sex with him-

“Do you want water? Stay here, I’ll get us some.” Ross doesn’t wait for an answer before getting off the bed and going to the kitchen.

“I can get my own water,” Smith objects, following him.

Ross opens his cabinets as he replies, “Then go get ready for work, it’s already seven.”

Smith is about to insist, but it is late, and he can use the time to figure out what the hell to say about all this.

When Smith is dressed and ready he opens his bedroom door to Ross leaning on the wall. He comes in, holding a glass out to Smith. Smith takes it, and sits on the bed, motioning for Ross to sit beside him. He sips at the water, stalling.

He lowers his cup and launches in. “That’s not a regular thing,” (it is) “and you won’t see me like that again.” (he can’t promise that) “It’s just a thing to destress and I’m fine.”

Ross looks like he’s about to answer when the bedroom door opens.

Trott walks in, asking, “What were you sa-”

They all freeze.

Ross is staring open mouthed at Trott and the neon blue vials in his hand, poised to put them on the desk, Trott is staring back at him, and Smith is looking back and forth at them both. Smith can’t bring himself to say anything, the only thing flitting through his head is _he knows, he knows, he knows_.

Trott moves first, dropping the vials on the desk, whipping a surgical knife out of his messenger bag as he takes long strides across the room to Ross, settling it at his throat.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”

Ross still has an utterly stupefied expression on his face, shocked and confused, and Smith thinks vaguely around his own panic for a moment and knows that he’ll feel guilty about it later.

Trott leans forward, looming over Ross, and Smith can see the shift from Trott to Repoman as it happens, and suddenly he’s standing, hand on Trott’s shoulder, saying (not begging), “Trott, please, no.”

He can only picture blood on his sheets and Ross’ lifeless body across his bed and blood on the knife and so much blood.

Trott doesn’t look away from Ross as he says, “He knows, sunshine, he’ll report us, there’s a reward for turning in addicts and dealers, you know there is.”

“He won’t, he won’t, Trott, don’t do this.” This is his home, his room, where they all sleep at night, peaceful and together and it’s clean and there shouldn’t be blood here, there can’t be blood and bodies here, it doesn’t belong.

“This isn’t just you, Smith. It’s my life on the line here too.” Trott looks back at him for this, and Smith sees a glimmer of panic in his eyes.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear I won’t,” Ross finally says, pleading eyes darting between them.

“He was worried about me when he came in, worried, Trott, not trying to get back out and call the cops. He would’ve done that by now.”

“You left your gun out again?”

Smith can see Trott loosening up, and Smith lies. “Yes, and he didn’t go anywhere or call anyone while I slept it off, we can trust him.”

Trott looks back at Smith again, studying his face, and Smith isn’t sure what he sees, but Trott pulls back from Ross.

“If you tell anyone, I will make sure you’re gutted by the time they get to me.” Trott promises, glaring at Ross.

“I won’t.” Ross whispers, soft and earnest.

Trott meets Smith’s gaze, and his eyes soften. “Go take a shower, sunshine. We’ll go to work together when you’re done.”

Smith realizes his breath is stuttering, and he nods jerkily.

He lets himself zone out in the shower, tries to let his mind go blank as the water needles at his back. It is familiar and comforting, but it doesn’t help that he wants another hit. Anxiety claws at him and he just wants the warm soothing calm that zydrate will give him.

His skin is still crawling when he gets out of the shower, but by the time he’s dressed and meets Trott and Ross in the living room he’s at least stopped shaking.

They drive to work in silence, suit up, and Trott divides their list into neat thirds so they won’t run into each other.

Work passes quickly, as usual. It’s easy and distant like he’s learned to do. It’s a weak replacement for zydrate, but it gives a release from the swirling thoughts.

No one comes for him or Trott by the end of their shift, and Smith can feel everything coming back too fast, too soon. Trott stalks out of the locker room first, emphatically not waiting for Smith.

Smith leaves next, feeling tired and exhausted down to his bones, unable to meet Ross’ worried gaze.

When he gets to his apartment the small hope that Trott would’ve let himself in and been waiting for him is crushed.

His apartment is cold and empty and his room only makes him think of earlier.

He shoots up, and for the first time in months, he rides that blissful relaxed calm to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trott: [ I wont hesitate bitch](https://youtu.be/LHJoqHz8MVE?t=4s)
> 
> as always, find me on tumblr at [cookiesandkatanas](cookiesandkatanas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
